Your Love is a Song Drabble Series
by Gecko Osco
Summary: 7 days of USUK drabbles done for the USUK Sweethearts Week on Livejournal.  Rating will change once mature content is reached.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Your Love is a Song Drabble Series

Genre: romance, fluff, humor  
Pairing(s): USUK  
Rating/Warnings: ranging from PG to M (includes language, sex, and bondage)  
Summary: A collection of USUK oneshots done for Sweethearts Week on Livejournal.  
Notes: The USUK comm on Livejournal is having their Sweethearts Week again this year and I participated by writing 2 small one-shots, one from England's POV and one from America's, for each theme. Since the week is almost over, I will be posting the stories here as a drabble series with individual summaries for each set of drabbles.

This Theme, **Sealed with a Kiss**: America doesn't sleep with a shirt on and England needs reminding.

* * *

_**I hear you breathing in**_

America almost never slept with a shirt on.

England, who had never found that a comfortable way to sleep unless it was after a round of satisfying sex and he was too tired to fish for his discarded shirt, had a hard time getting used to that aspect of sleeping in America's bed. It had felt too warm or too hard or too different at first and he had ended up tossing and turning for most of the night, leaving him to be extra irritable in the morning. But, like everything else England had initially found himself annoyed with regarding the younger nation, sleeping against America's bare back or chest became more and more of a comfort, a safe haven, something to look forward to. It let him feel the beat of America's heart against his ear and smell the fresh scent of his skin that always reminded England of earth and sky.

And, it granted England wonderful access to rain a shower of soft, gentle kisses up and down America's spine, waking the younger nation up more pleasantly than any alarm clock could ever hope to.

America's back was broad and a healthy, tan color; wide shoulders narrowing down to slimmer hips with muscles relaxed beneath the skin. There were a smattering of faded scars that were pale patches of white or red against the skin, so muted over the years that if England hadn't been looking for them he wouldn't have spotted them. Some of them were from various skirmishes or natural disasters America had faced over the years, some were from the wars he fought—there were even a few that England had put there. He was always sure to give those marks extra attention.

England inhaled deeply at the base of America's neck, letting the soft, golden hair tickle his nose as he spooned in behind the slightly taller nation, his arms wrapped around his body and he linked his hands over his stomach. England smiled against the soft skin before he began pressing soft kisses down his neck and further down his spine, shuffling a little so he could reach each vertebrae comfortably. Once England reached the base of his spine and the small of America's back he shifted up again and pressed warm, open mouthed kisses against the various marks and scars he knew by heart, mouthing words in English, Gaelic, Welsh and even the little Indian he remembered as he went. America shifted under his ministrations but didn't make any move to turn around; England knew he was waking up though and that he was smiling.

After kissing the scars, England moved back to America's spine, loving how strong it felt against his lips, loving that even when America was dealing with numerous adversities and under near constant stress and political demands it was still straight and proud. A long time ago he would have sneered and told him he should have expected it, that he deserved the hardship of being a nation since he had spurned England's care, but those days were gone and now England only felt admiration for America. He kissed and kissed until he was back at the base of America's neck, placing a lingering one at the top of the spine before he loosened his hold on America so the awakened nation could turn around. America's eyes were sleepy but happy and he leaned in close to bury his nose in England's neck, his own strong hold wrapping around England.

"Morning, sunshine." England smiled and whispered it back.

* * *

_**The dawn is fire bright**_

America loved a lot of different things about England but he was aware he needed to remind the older nation of all those things he loved on a near constant basis. England had never had a particularly strong sense of self-esteem in his physical appearance; whether it was because his eyebrows were pretty damn big or because he'd spent most of his childhood getting beat up by his siblings or because he'd spent so much time under French rule as a child who probably always pointed out his flaws all the time, America didn't know. But, all that stuff really didn't matter because all he cared about was that England felt at times that he wasn't worthwhile in some fashion when America felt the complete opposite.

So, he liked to remind England at every opportunity how attractive he found the older nation. And that's what he was doing right now, straddling England, still fully dressed, in his bed, his hands holding England's wrists pinned down tight so he couldn't wriggle away, pressing soft, butterfly kisses all over his body and face, listing off every little thing America loved about England. How sexy he found his slender hands, how he loved the feel of the rough, calloused tips against his skin; how much he loved every little noise England couldn't stop from escaping the pale, strong column of his throat. How he even loved the bushy eyebrows because even though on a ton of people they'd be an eyesore, England pulled them off in a way that was uniquely handsome to him.

"St-stop saying such daft things…" England's voice was soft and husky, hardly even any scolding in it really. America grinned and kissed his nose in retaliation.

"No can do, Iggy, I'm not even halfway done!" America moved over and kissed the warm, flushed cheek nosily, pulling away with an exaggerated smooching sound. "I really love how you turn this really cute shade of red whenever you're embarrassed—you look like you do after we've screwed, it's totally hot."

America kissed England's mouth before the older nation could deny anything before he moved down and placed a solid kiss to the bobbing Adam's apple, which made a nice sort of hum-sigh noise come out of England. "I love how you let me kiss you here, baring your throat, it's so sexy."

England made another soft noise and swallowed against America's lips; America also loved how England was shy at first whenever America listed off his good features, but he couldn't really kiss that.

America drifted back up and pressed a kiss to each closed eye lid, giving England a dopey grin when those eyes re-opened and blinked hazily at him. "And green is my favorite color after blue so your eyes are awesome."

He wished that England could figure out how attractive America found him; that he loved every bit, ever flaw, every dip and sharp angle he had; that he could always believe it and never worried that America would ever find him ugly or funny-looking or whatever the hell else he got into his head. But, even if he never did, even if they spent the next few centuries together and America still had to tell him every day, he wouldn't mind it too much. That just meant he got to kiss England silly—and there really wasn't much to complain with about that.

* * *

Reviews are love!


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Your Love is a Song Drabble Series

Genre: romance, fluff, humor  
Pairing(s): USUK  
Rating/Warnings: ranging from PG to M (includes language, sex, and bondage)  
Summary: A collection of USUK oneshots done for Sweethearts Week on Livejournal.  
Notes: The USUK comm on Livejournal is having their Sweethearts Week again this year and I participated by writing 2 small one-shots, one from England's POV and one from America's, for each theme. Since the week is almost over, I will be posting the stories here as a drabble series with individual summaries for each set of drabbles.

This Theme, **Pop Culture Shock**: Where Football is not just an American sport and British TV is invading.

* * *

_**The stars are falling out**_

"This is going to be so fucking awesome, man!" America had a manic, excited look in his eyes that was generally referred to as 'hyped' in his abomination of the English language, and was practically vibrating with anticipation. England was keeping pace with him but was not nearly as excited as the younger nation, but that was to be expected. They were going to see a football game—but it certainly wasn't England's kind of football.

As per tradition for the past few years, the National Football League, or the NFL as America called it, was playing their international series game in London's Wembley stadium* that Sunday, so of course America had bought tickets and was now forcing England into accompanying him to watch his bloody-awful sport. Well, all right, maybe it wasn't terribly awful but still, it was nothing like _real_ football and England hated it that America continued to refer to his sport as such and use the word 'soccer' to denote footie. It was bloody arrogant is what it was! But that was just America, stubborn as a mule and utterly refusing to give into traditions set by the rest of the world; if England was honest with himself, and he generally was but chose to ignore it for sake of his sanity, he sort of admired that trait of America's.

Not that he'd ever tell the sodding prat that or else America would be intolerable for weeks.

"This is gonna be so great, Iggy! The Giants and the Dolphins having their rematch again here after their game in 2007*! They've both got decent teams this year so it's sure to be an awesome game! They may not be the Patriots, don't give me that look you know they're awesome and it's just a team name, but it'll still be a good one!"

England shook his head noncommittally in response to America's excited words as their tickets were handed over to the usher and America made a beeline straight for their seats. The New England Patriots were America's favorite American football team, and the older nation knew they were excellent and that America himself had nothing to do with the team's name, but England couldn't help but feel a twinge of dislike whenever he had to hear about them. Old wounds and all that rot he supposed. When they had played at Wembley stadium in 2009, America had flown over and dragged England to that game as well, though it been a blow-out, the Patriots thoroughly _smashing_ the Tampa Bay Buccaneers. This rematch between the Dolphins and the Giants should prove to be a much more exciting game.

As much as England did not care to admit it, he didn't hate American football as much as he felt he should. Christ, he even had his own blasted _team _in the Europa NFL league as Germany and the Netherlands did*, and while regular football was still undoubtedly the sport of choice in his country, he couldn't deny the surge in popularity for the American sport in the recent years. Case in point, how packed the stadium was with his people, all just as excited as America to watch the rematch, their excitement tingling beneath his skin. He gave a heavy, resigned sigh as they made their way to their seats, but gave America a good-natured smile; America had been with him long enough to interpret that smile to mean 'I'm quite happy you did drag me here, even if I pretend not to be, so enjoy your bloody game and then we'll go back to mine.'

America, the smart lad that he was, sealed the deal with a kiss.

* * *

* The NFL has a series of international games that are played each year, and while the UK has been popular for the past few years, these games have also been played in Canada and China. Wembley Stadium is actually not on the rooster for 2011, so let's assume this is further in the future ;P

* The New York Giants and the Miami Dolphins played an exciting game in 2007 with the Giants winning 13 to 10. Both of the teams have expressed interest to have a rematch again in Wembley Stadium.

* There is really a European NFL league and it's actually pretty popular, especially in Germany. You can read about it here http : / / en . wikipedia . org / wiki / NFL_Europe. England does have its own team, which makes sense as the popularity of American football has been steadily rising in the UK over the past few years. They are called the London/England Monarchs.

* * *

_**Against the city lights**_

"So, exactly how many of _my_ shows are you intent on butchering this year? I read it was some obscene amount in the Sun." England was settled beside America on the younger nation's couch, snacking on a bag of potato chips, not 'crisps' or whatever he called them, that stupid smug expression on his face as America frowned at him.

"Hey, I do not 'butcher' your shows! I make them awesome! Look at 'The Office,' mine's got Steve Carrell and it's way more funny than your stupid version was! And American Idol, which just sounds better than 'Pop Idol' is one of the best reality shows in the world!" America plopped down on the couch and was frowning in a way that was way too similar to a pout so he tried not to look at England. The older nation was smirking, America could tell even without seeing him, which meant that his insult had not had the desired effect and England was about to try and prove him wrong.

America hated it when England did that because, usually, he ended up being right.

England put down the bag of chips and shifted on the couch so that his arm rested casually against the back and his legs were elegantly bent under him, his right leg dangling off the couch. His head was tilted to the side and that smirk was growing bigger by the second; America risked a glance and then immediately wished he hadn't because damn if England didn't look good when he was smug. England leaned forward a bit from his position so that his face was closer to America, challenging him to contradict anything he was about to say.

"Need I mention your abysmal attempt at 'Coupling' America? How long did that show last on your end of the pond? Five, six episodes? Wasn't that a 'sure-fire hit,' hmm? I seem to remember you laughing in my face how this show was going to be the 'next big thing' and how it would make the original look, how did you put it, ah yes, like 'two-week old dung?' Not to mention your laughable attempts at converting 'Blackpool' into a marketable show here. 'Viva Laughlin' even had that Australian Hugh Jackman and it still failed utterly."

America huffed (because damn it if Iggy wasn't right, those shows had tanked something awful) before he gave a dark grin back and leaned in close to England, his face just a few inches away from his partner's, close enough to smell the chips on his breath. "Yeah? Well how about 'Who Wants to be a Millionare?' Regis Philbin is the man and that show got way more popular than your version!"

England rolled his eyes and countered back with, "'The Weakest Link.' Though I suppose that was inevitable, you lot have never been very good with being told you're weak, have you? Tell me, did dear Anne Robinson frighten all of you?"

America felt the growl build up and he moved closer until he was practically kneeling on the couch and hovering over England's lap. "'Three's Company.'"

"'Life on Mars.'"

"Hey! That got good ratings!"

"And yet still failed." England murmured those last words which made America's stomach do weird, flippy things. "Just face it, love; my telly is far superior to yours and it's just too much trouble for you to try and adapt it to your audiences."

England was still fucking smirking, but it was way more playful than smug now and his hand had reached over to play with America's forearm. America had a brief internal struggle on whether to continue their little debate, because he was positive he could win if he held out a bit longer, before he figured that even though he'd spent the last five minutes insulting his television stations and people, it would be way more fun to do what England was suggesting with the arm tickling they do instead. Besides, he still had his trump card to play.

"Well, we have Supernatural AND Glee over here so your stupid shows can go blow themselves." America tugged a chuckling England off the couch and pulled him down the hall towards the bedroom, the TV in the front room forgotten.

* * *

* All shows are taken from this list: http : / / tv . yahoo . com / slideshow / 665 / photos / 1

* * *

REVIEWS ARE LOVE


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Your Love is a Song Drabble Series

Genre: romance, fluff, humor  
Pairing(s): USUK  
Rating/Warnings: ranging from PG to M (includes language, sex, and bondage)  
Summary: A collection of USUK oneshots done for Sweethearts Week on Livejournal.  
Notes: The USUK comm on Livejournal is having their Sweethearts Week again this year and I participated by writing 2 small one-shots, one from England's POV and one from America's, for each theme. Since the week is almost over, I will be posting the stories here as a drabble series with individual summaries for each set of drabbles.

This Theme,** Around the World**: England and America take a trip to Venice, where there is glass and where there are masks.

* * *

_**Your love is a symphony**_

England had to give credit where it was due; Italy may have been a simple-minded twit who had pasta on his mind more than what could be considered healthy, but the nation knew beauty and how to emphasize it. Venice was the perfect example of this, a perfect blend of old world Renaissance and modern day architecture with bright colored building and winding canals that served as roads. It was a wholly unique and striking as a city and England couldn't help the smile he felt bloom across his face at being back there, and that he wasn't there for some blasted conference or world summit meeting. No, the only reason he was in Venice was because America had never been there and they were taking a long overdue vacation; no stressful, pointless world meetings to be worried about ruining his stay in the lovely city.

They had arrived the previous night and Italy had greeted them enthusiastically after their train got in, more coherent than he usual was at the conferences; he guided them through the city via a water taxi to the bed and breakfast they were staying at. America had been utterly fascinated with how the various canals served as streets and had eagerly listened to the excited way Italy described his city. England had been to Venice before so it had not been a surprise, but he knew for America, whose entire country was linked together by roads and highways, seeing a city mainly located on water was a novelty. He was actually surprised to learn that America had never been to Venice before; but he was still a young nation, it wasn't that unheard of he supposed.

Italy had taken them as far as the bed and breakfast, which was run by a small woman who had no trouble in grabbing both of their suitcases and hauling them up three flights of narrow stairs, before he left, telling them to have fun and eat lots of pasta. Now, they were rested, well-fed on crackers, cheese, meats and blood-red orange juice and had set off to explore some of the local street markets next to the Rialto Bridge*. America had admired the oldest bridge in Venice, which served as one of the main crossings over the Grand Canal* that ran through the heart of the city and had even let England give him a mini history on the bridge before he got distracted by all the sights and sounds of the outdoor markets.

"Holy crap! This is crazy, I can't believe they were able to fit so many stalls on such a tiny street! Are you serious that there are no cars in Venice?"

England gave American an indulgent smile as they walked hand-in-hand down the narrow alley, the sounds of haggling merchants and rapid Italian floating all around them. "Not in this part of the city. There are some sections that have limited roads but for the most part, ferries and water-taxis are what's needed to move about. Or simply walking, there are plenty of bridges."

"No wonder they all eat so much, they walk around a ton and burn it all off! Oh, what's that?" America pointed at a vendor's stall which had a variety of different masks on it, dragging England after him in his excitement. "These are awesome! Look at that one, it's got a ton of feathers on it! That one just looks creepy, it's all black."

England straightened his clothing with his free hand and smacked America on the shoulder. "Don't bloody well drag me everywhere!"

America ignored England's scolding, per usual, and picked up an ornate mask that was colored in dark blue and black, feathers framing the eyes and silver paint decorating the cheeks in a leaf-like pattern. "Why do they have all these masks? There's a guy down there that has a bunch too."

"For the Carnival* I suppose. Venice has a yearly, two weeklong festival right before the Catholic holiday lent begins with Ash Wednesday. Think of it as Venice's Mardi Gras."

America made a noise of understanding in the back of his throat before he grinned and held up the mask over England's face, tilting his head to the side in blatant admiration that made the older nation blush hotly. "Oh yeah, we could definitely use this."

England smacked America again and ignored the soft chuckling come from the vendor as they set the mask down and walked away. Bloody tosser.

* * *

* The Rialto Bridge is one of four bridges that span the Grand Canal in Venice and is both the oldest and most likely the most renown due to it's proximity to the popular Rialto market.

* The Grand Canal is one of the largest water-traffic corridors in the city

* The Carnival of Venice is an annual festival held in Venice and goes for two weeks, ending just before Ash Wednesday begins, the traditional start of the Catholic observation of Lent. It ends on Shrove or Fat Tuesday, which is the traditional day of Mardi Gras in New Orleans. The Carnival is most widely known for the masks that are worn during its celebration, one of Venice's most popular exports (I know, I own one XD).

* * *

_**Your love is a melody**_

So far, America was freaking loving Venice and was going to have send Italy a pasta basket or something for letting him and England chill there for a whole week.

He had been to other places in Italy before, like Rome and Milan, but Venice was way different and a lot more fun! First off, it was water, a city literally on water where you had to take a bunch of boats to get anywhere which was so cool and different from any of America's big cities (though that didn't make them any less awesome, you know). Second, the food and atmosphere was just so happy, a lot likeItaly himself, and America had never gone so long without a hamburger and not craved one, but it was happening here. Between Lucia's cooking, their bed and breakfast lady, and the different restaurants he and England went out too he was starting to get why Italy was such a freak about pasta.

And third, and most importantly, Venice had warm weather; this meant that England was wearing khaki shorts and a short sleeve shirt that was a pretty green color he'd never seen him wear before and America was _really_ enjoying the view.

They had spent most of the first day wandering around the shops and alleys around their lodgings and had found a nice, pretty abandoned courtyard that America got to take a bunch of awesome pictures in. They'd gone over to the Murano* island to the north of Venice the next day and watched the glassblowers work and visited the museum (which America had to admit was pretty bad ass as far as museums go) that showed all the different glass sculptures. And now they were on their third day of awesomeness, heading to St. Mark's square* which, according to England, was 'fairly magnificent as far as Italian churches went, not the Westminster Abbey but certainly worth seeing.' Frankly, America didn't care where they went as long as he got to ride the water taxis again because those were pretty damn fun.

But when they got there, even America had to admit, the Basilica was pretty amazing looking and could see why England had referred to it as the 'Church of Gold'* on the way over, only sounding a little bit grumpy about it. The church was huge for starters, and had a ton of gilded domes and statues outside, complete with gold griffins and huge horses. He felt like he could stare at the outside for hours and still find a new sculpture, a different detail and he'd never get bored; but then they'd gone inside and he felt his eyes go wide at the huge, vaulted ceilings and the bright gold and blue mosaics littering those ceilings. England looked amused at his reaction but didn't comment on it, just squeezed his hand once as they wandered around, telling him random facts he'd picked up over the years about the 'Byzantine and Gothic architecture' the church was modeled after. Sort of reassuring that even if America didn't have famous landmarks quite like _this_ it was all right—not that America really thought he needed things like this. He had lots of awesome buildings of his own after all.

After the church, they decided to get a late lunch at a small restaurant within the square that totally had tables that looked like the came out of _Lady and the Tramp_; they had a small wait while their table was prepared during which England decided to check on a few things back at his house. America snorted and let him go; he was on vacation, short of a fire in Congress he wasn't checking on work stuff at all. He glanced around at a few shops near the restaurant, packed together just as tightly as the outdoor stalls had been at the street market, when he spotted something in one of the windows. He glanced at one of the waiters, glanced at England who was checking emails on his phone (after America showed him how), and walked over to investigate real quick. America didn't know what the name of the store was, being in Italian and all, but when he stepped inside, he saw a ton of different glass figurines, beads and jewelry that obviously came from Murano.

And, turning to look in the window, he spotted it.

It was small, small enough to fit on a desk and was gorgeously crafted, all smooth curves and sleek swirls of blue mingled with clear, perfect glass and opaque white. He stared at the figurine for a few moments before the kindly shop owner wandered over and gestured toward it in question, crossing language barriers to ask if America wanted it. He looked out the window where he saw England frowning at his phone, probably having issues with a text or something, before he grinned wide and nodded at the shop owner. She wrapped it up carefully and gave him a small bag before shaking his hand happily, muttering her thanks in broken English before shooing him out of her store. When he stepped back outside, England was looking for him, that cute, furrowed look he got when he was puzzled plain on his face before he spotted America, a smile flashing across before he scowled in annoyance.

They sat down at the restaurant and ordered their food with a waiter who spoke enough English that America didn't have to worry about ordering octopus or something* and while they were waiting for their drinks to be brought out, America plopped the bag on the table and pushed it across the way. England looked at it for a moment before he huffed and gave America 'the Look' that told him he really shouldn't have and how silly it was for them to waste money during the current economic climate. America just motioned for him to open it, which England did, his eyes going wide as he unwound the tissue and stared at the glass unicorn figurine America had bought for him. He blinked and looked back up, mouth dropping open as he tried to find the words to respond with, his slender fingers taking the figurine gently off the table.

"It's pretty, right? It'll look good on your desk, do you like it?"

England blinked again before he smiled, a small blush dusting across his cheeks.

"It's lovely, you fool." America grinned as the waiter returned with their drinks.

* * *

* The Murano island is located north of Venice in the Venetian Lagoon that is famous for its glass making and lampworking. Today, Murano is home to the _Glass Museum_ in the Palazzo Giustinian, which holds displays on the history of glassmaking as well as glass samples ranging from Egyptian times through the present day.

*The Piazza San Marco, or St. Mark's Square is the principal public square of Venice and home to the beautiful Saint Mark's Basilica. There are many shops and fountains in the square

* The Basilica is nicknamed the Chiesa d'Oro in Italian or Church of gold due to its opulent design, gilded Byzantine mosaics, and its status as a symbol of Venetian wealth and power.

* True story. While in Venice, I accidentally ordered a seafood pasta dish that came with lots and lots of octopus in it—it was really rubbery XD

*Figurine America bought for England here http : / / www . atoncer . com / collectibles / fantasy / unicorns / MURANO%20HAND%20BLOWN%

* * *

Reviews are love!


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Your Love is a Song Drabble Series

Genre: romance, fluff, humor  
Pairing(s): USUK  
Rating/Warnings: ranging from PG to M (includes language, sex, and bondage)  
Summary: A collection of USUK oneshots done for Sweethearts Week on Livejournal.  
Notes: The USUK comm on Livejournal is having their Sweethearts Week again this year and I participated by writing 2 small one-shots, one from England's POV and one from America's, for each theme. Since the week is almost over, I will be posting the stories here as a drabble series with individual summaries for each set of drabbles.

This Theme,** Just the Two of Us**: Sometimes sight is unnecessary and there are all kinds of freedom.

Story will officially be rated M due to the content in this chapter.

* * *

_**I've been keeping my eyes wide open**_

There were many things that could happen to a nation. They could be scarred, they could break bones, and they could feel their hearts burst and still come out alive. They could starve, they could wither away from plague and they could even die. However, of the many things that could happen, a nation would never go blind; as long as his or her people still breathed, as long as they still saw, so would nations because they were, essential earth given physical form and you couldn't blind the earth or the people who called it home. It was probably because of this idea, the idea that the only way a nation could go blind was through fading away or willingly closing your eyes, that England felt a sense of unease at being blindfolded.

The blindfolding had, of course, been America's idea. And England had, for some God-forsaken reason agreed to it; he suspected a great deal of his agreement had to do with how America's hand had been gently teasing his straining cock. And here he was now, blindfolded, kneeling upright in bed with America's arms wrapped around him from behind, his erection hard against the small of his back and feeling slightly unsettled at the loss of his vision and how it made every touch come into sharper focus. How easy it made it for him to get lost, founder and depend solely on the younger nation—England could practically feel the rebellion at the loss of control eating away at his nerves, at war with the gently thrum of security and safety he always felt with America. If he was shaking from the mess of emotions though, America didn't comment; he just rubbed at England's chest, pressed hot kisses into his shoulders, and continued his steady stroking.

When America began to probe at his entrance he started so badly he nearly lost his balance and only America's strong hand on his hip kept him upright; the younger nation made a comforting hushing noise in his ear and asked if he was all right, if he wanted to continue. England nodded after a moment; he wasn't comfortable being unable to see but the pros of the blindfold far outweighed the discomfort. America hummed and moved his slicked up fingers back to press in and stretch him slowly, kissing up England's neck every time a small gasp or mewl escaped him, making his own needy noises. After three fingers and feeling almost unbearably sensitized to every touch, England nodded again and made the move to drop down on his forearms. America shook his head and wrapped an arm around his chest, keeping England kneeling and pressed against his back.

When America pushed in slowly, England let out a strangled yell and arched back, the back of his head coming to rest against America's shoulder, black surrounding him while white bloomed behind his eyelids. He had a harder time trying to thrust back against America with the position than he would have if he'd been on his hands and knees so eventually settled with rolling his hips in time with America, almost too overwhelmed to do anything else. America's voice was ragged in his ear and England turned his head enough to kiss some portion of America's face, unable to see where his lips landed. America moved so that their mouths lined up, the speed of his thrusts picking up, his legs strong and molded against England's thighs. England's hands had no where to grip other than America, one hand reaching behind to grasp hard at the back of his neck while the other rested over the bruising grip America had on his hips.

England gasped out America's name has he felt his world tunnel down and coil into unbearable heat, teetering on the edge for a moment that stretched into infinity before spilling over with a soundless cry. He went boneless but tried to clench around America has the younger nation came, shivering violently as aftershocks wracked his body, something that sounded perilously close to a whimper escaping him when America gasped 'I love you' into his neck. There was a moment of utter stillness in the aftermath where England's willing blindness, the frayed feeling of his nerves, and the beat of America's heart against his back seemed to all blend into one wordless emotion that evoked a kind of inner peace England couldn't remember last feeling. It was brief and lasted no more than a moment, but its echoes remained etched through his body and mind, enough so that when America gently pulled out and laid them down, pulling off the blindfold with a concerned look, England didn't even care that his cheeks were wet.

"You're okay, right Iggy? I didn't—I mean, I thought it'd be kinda cool but I—are you mad?"

England shook his head and pulled America down so he could bury his head in the warm hollow of his throat. "I'm wonderful, love. Thank you."

America gave him one of his smiles that lit up everything it touched and kissed England, dropping the blindfold to the floor.

* * *

_**So I've been keeping my mind wide open**_

"It's not too tight, is it love?"

"Nah, it's all right."

England gave a gentle humming noise in agreement, surveying the knots he had used to tie America's wrists to the bedposts, sliding a finger between the scarves and America's wrist to make sure they weren't too tight. America tilted his head back a little to watch the deft, caring motions of the older nation's hands with a small, relaxed smile, the small thrill of anticipation he felt lick up his spine as England leaned back mitigated by obvious care England took whenever they used the scarves. England spared him a brief smile before he leaned over to the nightstand and fished out the lube and a condom. Generally, being nations, they didn't really need condoms but they did help after a long absence of sex, bottoming to be specific; plus they were cleaner and America knew England was a clean freak if America didn't shower before.

Usually, America didn't like being tied down, and if he was being honest, least of all by England. He had fought long and hard for his freedom and being restrained fought against every natural instinct he had; he knew that the Revolution was behind them, that the shadow it had left behind the older nation's green eyes had faded away over the years until it only showed up as residual sadness if he was feeling especially maudlin about his former Empire. And he knew England only ever went along with tying America down because America asked him too, that he understood it was because America just needed to let go of everything for awhile. Still though, that small, rebellious voice that had once screamed and fought so hard against England hated the restriction.

America had kind of forgotten when he started figuring out that the best way to de-stress from all the pressures he dealt with daily with being the world's leading superpower was to give up that control to someone else for a little bit. He hadn't liked the idea at all in the beginning and had tried to ignore it for a long time, and even when he had started to think maybe trusting England with the control might be okay, because England was pretty much the only one he trusted that much, he still couldn't bring himself to ask. England had figured it out on his own though, because he was just way to fucking smart about sex stuff sometimes, and to America's surprise, hadn't teased or scoffed. He simply told America to let him know and he'd give the younger nation whatever he needed, which had basically reduced America to a puddle of goo because damn if the island nation wasn't sweet as sugar when he wanted to be.

And America had asked, just like he had asked an hour or so ago as they cuddled and shared kisses on the couch downstairs; and England, like always, had smiled at him and nodded, his touch soft against his shoulder. They had spent the next half hour through the tortuous game England liked to call 'proper foreplay' which had gotten rid of all their clothes, flushed their bodies and kissed until their lips were nearly bruised. America's body was nearly vibrating with energy as England had kissed him hard into their bedroom, backing America up until the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed. America had sat down and scooted back towards the headboard while England had fished out the silk scarves from the bottom draw of the nightstand, crawling over America's body on his knees once retrieved so he could bind back his wrists. There was something so crazy intimate about England tying those knots, his hands moving with quick movements from all his years spent at sea; it might've had to do with how he kissed America's wrists as he pulled away to settle back on his lap. Or it might've just been that he never once abused the trust America placed in him. One of those.

England warmed up the lube before he stretched America, which was nice because America didn't always remember and England would totally be justified in 'forgetting' for revenge but he never did, pressing open mouthed kisses up America's chest as he worked. America arched up and strained at the scarves, soft gasps being drawn out of him as England paid special attention to his bellybutton, his tongue dipping in and out against the sensitive skin. England removed his fingers and leaned close, hooking America's longer legs over his shoulder as he pressed inside in one, swift motion, his own voice ragged as America groaned. Heat licked up his spine and settled in his groin as England began to move in steady, sure motions, his face turned to the side where it pressed kisses up America's thigh.

Unable to use his hands, America had to rely on England almost entirely and while that was kind of scary to do, there was a different kind of freedom he felt in doing so, in trusting England enough to hold him tight and keep him safe. Even heroes needed breaks after all, needed someone who loved them to look after them and save their life; every good comic book always said that. And England was the best, America thought, the best to trust with that important of a job.

They peaked at nearly the same time, England's hand that wasn't gripping his hip, reaching around to stroke America in time with his frenzied thrusts, their louder shouts and gasps mixing together. America loved it when they came together; he was a romantic and it didn't happen that often naturally but whenever it did he always felt this warm cocoon seem to wrap around them in the hazy afterglow. It was awesome frankly, awesome that they were that in tune with each other and just served to remind America that he and England were probably always meant to be and that was why they had to go through all the crap they did, so they could get to be here. So they could earn it.

England untied his wrists after they had both caught their breaths, pressing a sweet, chaste kiss to America's lips before he rolled off and curled up on his back in the space to the side. America was sore, but in the best sort of way, and got a washcloth to clean up, curling up behind England afterwards to spoon with him, wrapping his arms tight around England's slimmer body in thanks.

"Thanks Iggy."

"Mmhmm, 'merica, go to sleep." England's response was mumbled and tired, his accent coming in heavier than usual.

America smiled and did as he was told, finding no reason to fight such smart advice.

* * *

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	5. Chapter 5

Title: Your Love is a Song Drabble Series

Genre: romance, fluff, humor  
Pairing(s): USUK  
Rating/Warnings: ranging from PG to M (includes language, sex, and bondage)  
Summary: A collection of USUK oneshots done for Sweethearts Week on Livejournal.  
Notes: The USUK comm on Livejournal is having their Sweethearts Week again this year and I participated by writing 2 small one-shots, one from England's POV and one from America's, for each theme. Since the week is almost over, I will be posting the stories here as a drabble series with individual summaries for each set of drabbles.

This Theme,** Across the Universe**: Persistence AU. Arthur and Alfred both muse about the idea of 'coming home.'

Story will officially be rated M due to the content.

* * *

_**All around me, running through me**_

The idea of 'coming home' is somewhat subjective to me. After all, the home you had as a child, while still undoubtedly your home in some manner, is not really the home you would have as an adult. That's the whole point of growing up, isn't it? Discovering what your home truly is and who to share it with and all that rot. Perhaps it's an American idea, though seeing how I've lived in this country for most of my life one would think if that was the case this whole nonsense of returning to mine and Alfred's childhood neighborhood would make more sense to me. But, then again, maybe not.

Alfred was walking beside me, all wide eyes and wonder on his face despite the fact that he's pushing thirty-three and the neighborhood looks basically the same as it did while we lived there. You'd think he was on some alien planet from those blasted sci-fi shows he watches with the way he's acting—that or a child at Disneyland for the first time. I suppose it has been quite some time since he's been here; since his parents moved to be closer to their sons in Boston and since my family moved back to England to be further away from me neither of us had a reason to return. Until now at least, where we had both been invited to speak at our old alma mater of Hetalia Academy regarding our respected fields (journalism for me, astrophysics for him…he's currently in the process of earning his PhD so he can teach at MIT).

"Dude, Iggy, do ya see? The old park is still here!" He pointed obnoxiously across my face at a small, run down park at the end of our old street. I shoved the flailing arm out of my face and gave him a frown.

"Yes I see it, no need to smack me in the nose about it."

Alfred grinned at me and squeezed my hand tighter from where he held it, sandwiched in between our bodies. Whenever I wonder just how I've managed to stay with the idiot for nearly fifteen years (plus or minus some months when we had rough patches in college) Alfred will send me one of those smiles of his and I remember why. I felt a slight blush heat up my cheeks and looked away because if I kept looking into that smile I'd end up tripping or giggling or something equally foolish. I heard him chuckle before he started dragging me over to the dilapidated playground at the park, an excited energy in his step. He stopped in front of the swings and let go of my hand, plopping down on one of them without hesitation and motioning for me to do the same.

"Well come on! I'll race ya to the top!"

I looked at the rundown swing with more than a little concern; it had groaned rather loudly when Alfred had sat down on it and as much as I tease him about going to fat, he really isn't that much larger than I am. "They certainly have let this park go to seed, haven't they? It wasn't nearly such a health hazard when we played here."

Alfred rolled his eyes and started swinging, the playset holding his weight despite all logic. "Oh don't be such a grump, it's still fine. See? And I'm taller than you!"

"By a whole inch you twat, nothing to keep bragging about," I growled. I wavered for another moment or so before I tentatively took hold of the swing and lowered into the filthy seat. I kicked off but wasn't willing to try swinging as high as Alfred—unlike him, I have sense and know he's on a one-way track to a broken arm. He gave a happy laugh and continued swinging higher and higher before he let go and jumped off the swing. He landed roughly but appeared unscathed and I rolled my eyes at his childish antics, still continuing my gently swinging. He brushed himself off and walked over to me, grabbing the metal chains as I was mid-swing and holding me off the ground.

"Gotcha!"

"Congratulations, do you want a prize?"

He grinned before kissing the tip of my nose; I don't know how I feel about him doing that. On one hand, it's terribly endearing but on the other hand it makes me feel as if I'm four. Such a convoluted mixture of emotions he's always creating within me, but I suppose that just makes me love the damn fool all the more. I don't think I could ever prove how thankful I am he waited for so long when we were younger, or be grateful enough that he never gave up, not for one second, when I wouldn't even glance his way as anything beyond a friend. I try though, and hopefully I'll be allowed to keep trying for a lot longer.

"Oh, give me a proper kiss, you wanker." I smirked up at him and felt satisfaction that I could make him blush every now and then.

He smiled and leaned down to oblige me, lovely man that he is.

* * *

_**Underneath me, running to me**_

Returning home is kinda like looking back at where you started and getting to see how far you've come; you get to see things differently and pick apart why you see them that way now and what's changed with you. Kinda a little too philosophical, mumbo-jumbo for me but that's the best way I can describe what it feels like walking down the hallways of my old high school, seeing new and old things all mingled together like a big scrapbook. Granted, your old school isn't really home, because only really HUGE nerds call school home, but it's pretty much the same feeling; you sure spend enough a lot of time there, just like you did at your childhood home; probably spend way more time at school than is healthy in my opinion. But I'm not supposed to think that, I'm going to be a professor after all, the most awesome kind of teacher, I have to encourage attendance and all that stuff.

Me and Arthur were at Hetalia Academy for only a few days but it was during their prom week which really just brought everything back. There were posters advertising tickets and the theme, something called 'Once upon a Dream' which sounds totally lame, and all the kids couldn't seem to stop talking about it, which was kinda annoying. We weren't that annoying, were we? I mean, Arthur talked about prom a lot but that was because he'd been the president, he was putting it together and he was my boyfriend so I had to respond or else he'd smack me or something—nah, we must've been way cooler than that.

The school was empty now, mostly because school was out and the only reason I'm still here is because Arthur 'had' to discuss some internship possibilities for kids interested in journalism with the paper he works for so I'm stuck here. Notice how he _always_ manages to get me stuck after school, even when we're not in school anymore! The corridor I was in used to be where all of the math classes for juniors and seniors had been but now it housed history classes, which sucked because these were some of the best classrooms and history was way lame and deserved to be stuck in the underground aka the "Dungeon" classrooms. Apparently those were storage now since the Academy had added that specialty science building a few years ago.

Not gonna lie, totally jealous the new kids have that building.

"Alfred? Where the blazes did you—oh, there you are. I said I'd only be a minute." I turned and smiled at Arthur as he walked up. It's kinda funny seeing him walk up the old corridor with just his slacks and coat, no uniform, no stacks of books, and no grumpy attitude. Well, maybe I still see a little bit of the grumpy attitude.

"Sorry, it was just so weird being back here! I mean, we haven't been back for a reunion or anything and it just looks so-so different, you know?" Arthur raised an eyebrow at me, which made me feel sort of sheepish, but he still took my hand as he shook his head.

"Different? Looks pretty much the same to me."

"Are you kidding? The math classes are in the east wing, all the science classes got moved to that fancy new building, English and history are in this corridor and the Dungeon's just storage now! Don't you remember how much fun those empty history classrooms were after hours? They took away the best hook up spot on campus! Well, other than the roof above the now 'small gym' but that was our secret." The school had built a big new gym a few years ago which made the one me and Iggy used to use the 'small gym' basically just used for weight training and badminton.

Arthur chuckled as we walked out. "I'm fairly sure that roof was used long before us, love. And it is likely being used by a new generation now."

I stared back at him in mock horror as we exited the school; for as much as a fuddy-duddy people thought he was in high school, he's actually pretty playful. I mean, I always knew that but I'm me, you know? His 'heart's true love' and all that sappy crap. "You mean that there are teenagers using that roof to screw like rabbits right now? They're spoiling OUR spot! Come on, we should go re-christen it or something!"

"Alfred!"

I grinned and ignored his weak I–don't-really-disagree-but-feel-like-I-should protests and tugged him after me towards the small gym—hell, we may get caught and banned from ever coming back but I was pretty sure it'd be worth it. Who likes twenty year high school reunions anyway?

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	6. Chapter 6

Title: Your Love is a Song Drabble Series

Genre: romance, fluff, humor  
Pairing(s): USUK  
Rating/Warnings: ranging from PG to M (includes language, sex, and bondage)  
Summary: A collection of USUK oneshots done for Sweethearts Week on Livejournal.  
Notes: The USUK comm on Livejournal is having their Sweethearts Week again this year and I participated by writing 2 small one-shots, one from England's POV and one from America's, for each theme. Since the week is almost over, I will be posting the stories here as a drabble series with individual summaries for each set of drabbles.

This Theme,** Earth, Sky, Sea, and Space**: Stonehenge is unique and the Grand Canyon is special.

Story will officially be rated M due to the content.

* * *

_**The clouds are glowing now**_

There was quite a lot of his own ancient history that England simply did not remember. Most of his youth had been wild and chaotic, filled with pain, blood, wars and not much clarity, trying to come to terms with what he was and trying desperately to not fade away, as so many small nations had in those days. His first clear memories were of his brothers and Rome trying to tame and control him, and neither of those memories were especially pleasant, even if Rome had given him the tools to start to become what he was today and his brothers had helped made him stronger in their own manner. Before that though, it was just a jumble of incoherent emotions and images that gave him a headache to try and sift through. And England didn't really have the desire to try and remember those times; he was old enough to know that it was better to let some memories alone.

America, who was still very young as far as nations were concerned, did not really understand that concept however and so was disappointed that England was unable to tell him what Stonehenge* could have possibly been built for as they stood in front of the site, surrounded by a gaggle of tourists. Disappointed and annoyed because no matter how he whined, England refused to get worked up over not knowing the purpose of the monument and did not wish to 'wrack' his brain over trying to remember. He was currently pouting, though he would be sure to deny such accusations, and was glaring between Stonehenge and England, who was trying not to look terribly amused at America's antics. He was failing though, if the uncharacteristic scowl he sent England's way was any indication.

"I don't understand why it's so important to you to know what Stonehenge's purpose as. It's certainly not like it's one of _your_ national treasures."

"Because look at it! It's like—like crazy awesome and no ones how the hell it was built or what it was used for and you, the one person who should, don't know any of that!" America was drawing some looks from the fellow tourists with his wild gestures which made England roll his eyes with a touch of annoyance, grabbing hold of his arms and putting an end to their flailing. "Don't you care what it was used for? You believe in all that magic and hocus-pocus junk, I bet this was a gathering place for witches or demons or—!"

"One, quit your damnable screeching, I'm right here, no need to broadcast to all the tourists that we're both decidedly _not_ human and cause an international mess. Second, it was not used for 'evil magic' or demon summoning because if it had been, _I_ would be able to feel it in the earth and there's nothing dark about this spot*. And third, archeologists place these being constructed somewhere around 3000 BCE*; you may enjoy calling me an old man but even I'm not that old!" England sniffed and turned up his nose as he walked a little bit away down the winding path that went around the stone monuments.

"Hey, hey! Don't get all huffy on me, I was just askin' about it. I wasn't makin' fun of your age or anything…I just think they're really neat is all and wish we knew more about 'em." England couldn't keep the annoyance up at the sound of America's voice, which always dropped an octave lower and had that lovely southern drawl whenever he was trying to calm England down. "I think it's pretty cool you got such a mysterious landmark that no one knows about and has been trying to figure out for years, just kinda sucks you can't remember."

England turned and gave America a small, forgiving smile as he paused so the younger nation could fall into step beside him again. America grinned back wide and wrapped an arm around England's shoulders as they walked the rest of the path in silence, passing by the Heel Stone* on their way out. England had driven them both out so they had no pressing need to leave like all the tourists did, and to be honest, England enjoyed just relaxing out in the open, grassy fields that were such an intense shade of green they made even Ireland a bit jealous. America wasn't complaining either, dropping his arm from his shoulders so he could hold England's hand now that they weren't so surrounded.

"Hey! I just thought of something! If these rocks were here before you, does that mean you still have them somewhere on your body?"

England raised an eyebrow and nodded, twisting a little as he lifted up the hem of his shirt to expose a small cluster off reckless on his left hip. "Of course, they're right here. They've actually been a bit itchy lately due to the reconstruction."

America stared at the freckles before he gave a huge smile and stopped abruptly, dropping down to his knees in the green grass to examine them closer. England flushed and smacked his shoulder in embarrassment, just imaging what some of the more nosy tourists not looking at the stones would think seeing America bloody _kneeling_, holding up his shirt. "Quit that you sodding prat! Christ, get up get up! People are looking!"

America ignored him completely, per usual, but did look up with that big grin, excitement and wonder blinking in his blue eyes. "Who cares about them, this is way more awesome! Don't you get it, Iggy? Stonehenge is like a birthmark! How fucking cool is that?"

England—had never thought of it like that before. He blinked and looked down at the freckles and America with a bemused smile, tilting his head to the side when the younger nation rose back to his feet and grabbed him in a big hug. "I suppose it is, isn't it? But honestly, no need to get so excited, I'm sure you have a few landmarks of your own that could serve the same purpose. What about Nantucket?"

"Nah, that doesn't count, it's not manmade; I mean the city is but it was that island before Nantucket got built. That's what makes Stonehenge awesome on you!" America was framed by the rolling green hills and clear blue sky behind him with the smile that always made England feel especially sappy, going on about him having a birthmark of all things and acting as if it was actually something to be envious of England for. It should have come to no surprise to America that England kissed him after being subjected to that smile, to hell with all the nosy tourists; America just grinned and kissed back.

* * *

***Stonehenge** is a prehistoric monument located in the English county of Wiltshire, about 3.2 kilometers (2.0 mi) west of Amesbury and 13 kilometers (8.1 mi) north of Salisbury. One of the most famous sites in the world, Stonehenge is composed of earthworks surrounding a circular setting of large standing stones. It is at the centre of the most dense complex of Neolithic and Bronze Age monuments in England, including several hundred burial mounds.

*There a whole range of theories as to what Stonehenge was actually used for that range from the mythological to the paranormal, even including some Arthurian mythos with Merlin enlisting the aid of a giant to build them for him. More recently, Stonehenge was used in Neo-paganistic rituals by Neo-Druids, though that is now carefully controlled and the site is mainly for tourism.

*Stonehenge actually has multiple ranges for when it first appeared, ranging from around 3100BCE to 2400 BCE depending on different evidence and archeological evidence discovered. However, the last known construction at Stonehenge was about 1600 BC and the last usage of it was probably during the Iron Age.

*The Heel's Stone lies just outside the main entrance to the henge, next to the present A344 road. It is a rough stone, 16 feet (4.9 m) above ground, leaning inwards towards the stone circle. It has been known by many names in the past, including "Friar's Heel" and "Sun-stone". Today it is uniformly referred to as the Heel Stone or Heelstone. When one stands within Stonehenge, facing north-east through the entrance towards the heel stone, one sees the sun rise above the stone at summer solstice.

* * *

_**My dreams are fading now**_

America had quite a few things he was proud of about his country, which sounded kind of weird to say because he _was_ America, but there was a big difference between what he was and what the country was and that made it kind of less weird. He was proud of his cities, proud of his national monuments and was really proud of his people, even if they bickered a lot lately. What he was most proud of though, and didn't tell a lot of people because it made him seem sorta like France, were the natural landmarks, like his forests and mountains and parks. America was proud his land and having people call it 'America the Beautiful' and not because he was vain or whatever. He was just proud to be such an awesome country.

And, because he was so proud, he liked to share the parts of himself with people he cared about—people really being nations, and that being England.

Which lead up to now; America got out of his big, blue Dodge truck with an excited hop to his step as England exited out the opposite side, zipping up the black hoodie he had on at the cold breeze that blew past. America smiled over at him and grabbed some of their bags out of the cab, leaving the rest for England to carry so he didn't get weird looks from carrying four duffel bags like they were pillows. He was excited and he knew that England was too, even though he was as poised and collected as ever, and couldn't wait to check their bags into the Bright Angel lodge so he could actually _show_ England what they'd traveled all the way up from hot-as-fuck Phoenix for.

America had a lot of natural wonders to be proud of but the Grand Canyon* was a freaking wonder of the world AND you could see it from space which made it pretty kick ass—and England had never seen it, which definitely had to be remedied.

They were staying on the South Rim*, plenty close to a lot of the hiking paths and a bunch of the classic Mary Colter buildings*; America wasn't sure how much hiking England had actually done in the recent years but the Bright Angel trailhead outside their lodge was pretty basic as far as the Canyon trails went. It was the middle of March, which had concerned England at first because he had heard America complain about the hot temperatures in Arizona plenty enough, but the Canyon was so far north it really only got warm down in the Canyon itself, not the rims which were nice and cool at the moment. America took a deep, happy breath and flashed his smile at England as they walked towards their lodge, chuckling at the way England was more focused on trying to catch a glimpse of the Canyon.

Arizona wasn't a very common state other nations visited, as most world summit meetings and business was conducted in either DC or New York usually, and the only nation America had shown the Canyon to was his brother during one of Teddy's* many hunting and camping trips. Though plenty of nations had seen pictures of the canyon and knew it existed, not many had seen it in person; it was special to America and he wanted to show England himself just how special.

They checked into their room, the hostess had been a pretty thing who had just given them a sly grin when she confirmed their room only had one bed and handed over their keys, and had immediately headed back out once their bags had been dropped off. America led England back through the village and past a bunch of the other lodges and some souvenir shops until they arrived along the Rim trail, which provided a wide look at the Canyon. America practically let out a victory whoop when he heard England's breath catch in his throat, glancing over with shy pride as England stared out over the red, tan, and pale yellow layers of sandstone and rock, small groupings of green and brown from the desert plant life sprinkling over the rock. The Colorado River could be seen from their vantage point, though America knew it was hard to spot if you weren't looking for it so he leaned over and pointed it out to England, whose smile widened a bit when he spotted it. They weren't hiking that far down this trip and England had been very clear that there would no white-water rafting either so they probably wouldn't see much of the river beyond views like now. It was a shame; the river was sure something to see in its own right.

"Pretty cool, uh? There's a bunch of rock layers that were around when dinosaurs lived that you can see in the lower layers and a bunch of geologists say it's the most comprehensive study of rock formation in the world. And, I mean yeah geology is kinda boring because it's just sitting around and talking about rocks but isn't it awesome seeing the planet's past like this?"

"It's—yes Alfred, it certainly is." England tore his gaze away from the Canyon to give America a fond, grateful smile, his eyes doing that sparkle thing they did when he was really happy and impressed. America felt his stomach do a flip-flop and leaned forward to bump England's hip with his own in bashful thanks.

"Just wait until you see it at sunset! And there are a ton of really cool buildings around here and we can visit the Desert Watchtower to get an even better view of the Canyon and if you really want we can even head over to the Canyon West area and walk on the Skywalk which is all glass and you can look at the Canyon from beneath your feet and—"

England leaned in quick and placed a small, almost nonexistent kiss on the side of America's mouth, effectively stopping anymore of America's excited word vomit; the older nation gave his best warm, loving smile before he turned to look back over the Canyon. He leaned his body slightly into America's and patted the top of his hand with a fond touch. "Whatever you like, love, whatever you like."

America smiled and turned in hand a bit so it could hold England's, looking back over the Canyon with him in a rare moment of silence, happy England found it as special and beautiful as America did.

* * *

*The **Grand Canyon** is a steep-sided canyon carved by the Colorado River in the United States in the state of Arizona. It is largely contained within the Grand Canyon National Park, one of the first national parks in the United States. Like Al says, it is considered one the world's most complete sequences of rock, exposing 40 layers of sedimentary layers. The Grand Canyon is 277 miles (446 km) long, up to 18 miles (29 km) wide and attains a depth of over a mile (1.83 km) (6000 feet). Art's reaction is pretty standard for a first time viewer XD

*The South Rim is generally the most accessible tourist section of the Canyon and holds a large number of historic buildings, shopping, lodges and access to hiking trails. It has the Grand Canyon Village and a large number of the Mary Colter buildings.

* Mary Jane Colter was an American architect who was responsible for the design and construction of many historic buildings along the South, East, and West rims of the Grand Canyon. Some of her buildings included the Hopi House, the Desert Watchtower, the Hermit's Rest and the Bright Angel Lodge mentioned here

*Teddy is, of course, in reference to President Theodore Roosevelt who visited the Grand Canyon in 1903. An avid outdoorsman and staunch conservationist, he established the Grand Canyon Game Preserve on November 28, 1906. Livestock grazing was reduced, but predators such as mountain lions, eagles, and wolves were eradicated. Roosevelt added adjacent national forest lands and redesignated the preserve a U.S. National Monument on January 11, 1908.

* * *

Reviews save lives! 33


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Your Love is a Song Drabble Series

Genre: romance, fluff, humor  
Pairing(s): USUK  
Rating/Warnings: ranging from PG to M (includes language, sex, and bondage)  
Summary: A collection of USUK oneshots done for Sweethearts Week on Livejournal.  
Notes: The USUK comm on Livejournal is having their Sweethearts Week again this year and I participated by writing 2 small one-shots, one from England's POV and one from America's, for each theme. Since the week is almost over, I will be posting the stories here as a drabble series with individual summaries for each set of drabbles.

The Last Theme,** Valentine's Day**: Arthur just wants a friend, and Alfred is determined to show him he has one. All he needs is a little help from Woody and Buzz-Chibi fic

Story will officially be rated M due to the content.

* * *

_**You've got troubles, well I've got 'em too**_

Alfred F Jones was a popular kid. Even though he was one of the youngest in his 1st grade class, he had lots of friends and always had people who wanted to play with him at recess and eat with him at lunch. His mama said it was because he was friendly and when you're friendly, people like you and in all his six year old wisdom, Alfred believed his mama completely on everything she said. He always brought extra fruit snacks and jellybeans to share with the other kids and his games of playing adventure and treasure hunters always had tons of kids joined in. His sleepovers were the best, even though he had a bratty baby brother who was only four and always had to butt in, and his parents always let him and his friends stay up late and eat junk food, as long as they promised to brush their teeth and eat fruit for breakfast in the morning.

Because he had so many friends, he of course had to get the best Valentine's Day cards for his class's exchange that week and that was where he was having some problems. There were so many different kinds of cards and he was having a hard time deciding which ones would be the best. His mama was in the aisle with him, looking at bags of candy, and he glanced up at her with big, imploring eyes. "Mama, which one should I get? They're too many for me to pick only one!"

His mama chuckled and walked over towards him, a bag of yummy Hershey kisses in her hands. "I can't pick for you, silly boy! You have to pick cards that come from _you_, that way all your friends and classmates will know how much you like them."

"But why do I hafta? They're just dumb cards, why can't I just say I like someone?"

His mama ruffled his hair and gave him another smile. He thought his mama had one of the prettiest smiles in the world and knew that was because she was so nice and loving; at six years old, Alfred knew you could tell a lot about a person by the way they smiled. "Because Valentine's day is a special day. It's the one day a year that's specially for telling the people you care about how much you like them and are thankful they're your friends—"

"Or family!" Alfred said excitedly.

"Yes, or family! And because it's a special day, you have to tell people in a special way and that's why you need to pick the cards, Alfred. It wouldn't mean as much if I picked them for you." She kissed his forehead and brushed back his golden hair. "Now, let's take a look! I can't pick for you but I can sure help!"

Alfred giggled and nodded his head at his mama, turning his attention back to the shelves of Valentine cards, looking over the girly pink ones, the superhero ones and the baby cartoon ones to try and find the best pack. He looked and looked for what seemed like forever, repeating his mama's words in his head as she showed him different packs and he rejected each and every one. He had to show the people he cared about how much he liked them—he had to show _him_ how much he wanted to be his friend and how cool he was. Because having all the friends in the world didn't matter if Arthur Kirkland didn't want to be Alfred's friend.

Arthur had moved all the way from England, somewhere his mama said was really far away and across a whole ocean and he was kind of a grump most of the time. He was always frowning and yelling at kids when they teased him, and kids teased him a lot; they teased his accent, his eyebrows, and his shortness. They seemed to not like Arthur has much as they liked Alfred and that made him sad because Arthur had to get used to a lot of stuff all at once and didn't look happy a lot. And while Alfred had plenty of friends already, he knew that Arthur could be his BEST friend and he really wanted one of those.

He had seen Arthur's smile on accident one day at recess when he'd gone off looking for buried treasure behind the swings last week; Arthur had been playing all by himself, talking and playing a game with an 'imaginoory' friend and he smiled politely as he poured pretend tea for his friend. It had been small but Alfred had thought that only his mama had a prettier smile than Arthur's and that had to mean that Arthur was nice and kind and would be perfect as Alfred's best friend. And all Alfred had to do was convince Arthur that he was right, and if his mama was always right, that meant giving him the best Valentine's card would definitely convince him!

He looked over at a few Disney ones that he sorta liked before his eyes landed on the winner. He smiled and grabbed the box from its spot on the shelf, smiling at the faces of Woody and Buzz Lightyear on the cover of the box before he clutched it to his chest and looked up at his mama. "This one! Let's get this one, Mama!"

Toy Story had been the best movie ever and had confirmed what Alfred had known for years to be true: that your toys came to life when you left your room and loved you so much they would brave the whole world for you! Alfred had seen it a whole bunch since it had released* and both Woody and Buzz were the coolest characters ever! These cards would be perfect! He turned the box over and saw there was one card with Woody and Buzz standing together, the cowboy's arm slung around the shorter space ranger's shoulder and they both looked like best friends.

"You're sure, Alfred? This is the one you want?"

"Yeah!"

His mama smiled and gave him a nod and placed a gentle hand on his back to lead him up to the registers. Alfred looked up and smiled bright, confident that this dumb holiday was going to be the best one Arthur ever had.

* * *

_**There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you**_

Arthur Kirkland hated Valentine's day. He hated it as much as he hated liver and onions, slimy frogs, and his barmy older brothers who always picked on him. It was a dumb, silly holiday with too much pink and bad chocolate with girls acting like ninnies and boys teasing even worse than usual. It didn't have a point and it wasn't like they got out of school or coursework for the day; it existed for no other reason but to annoy people (because some of his mum's friends sure didn't like it) and waste time. And most of all, he hated Valentine's day because after all the time he put into his own stupid cards, which had lovely pictures of fairies and unicorns that were NOT girly in any way, all his classmates had decided not to give him an cards of his own.

Their teacher said they'd had to give everyone in class a Valentine and had then make little baskets with their names on them that could be decorated however they wanted (which meant he'd had to go home nearly covered in glitter because the girl who sat next to him really liked using it) for the cards to go in on Valentine's Day. Arthur didn't really like anyone in his class because they all teased him and his eyebrows and how he talked, but his mum had said he needed to make friends by being kind and polite, so he had given everyone a card. And after dropping them off in each person's basket and returning to his desk, he had found his to be empty. The teacher had tried to scold the other kids, who had laughed at Arthur something terrible, but the recess bell had rung at that moment and everyone ran outside.

He had listened as the teacher apologized to him and offered him a lollipop out of her desk but it hadn't made any difference, even if it was a strawberry sweet and that was his favorite flavor. He had never felt so—so little before, so mad and angry and sad all at once that it nearly made him want to throw up. He had run away as some of the children made fun of how stupid his own cards to them were and hidden away at his safe place, the shaded hollow of bushes by the swings that no one else seemed to notice. He had stomped and mumbled and fisted his little hands tight as he raged at how much he hated this school, hated his classmates, and hate dumb, old America, but in the end, he still ended up curling up on the ground, burying his face in his arms as he cried.

Boys weren't supposed to cry, his Da told him, but Arthur was sure he'd be allowed to for today, for everyone being mean to him, for not having just one person who wanted to be his friend, no matter how hard he tried. He sniffled and tried to stay quiet, bending his knobby knees closer to his chest and curling even smaller and wondering what he had done to make them all hate him so much. He couldn't help the way he talked; he hadn't even known he talked funny until he had moved to America. And his eyebrows, his Da and brothers had eyebrows just like him; his mum had always told him they were charming, not funny looking. And—and he wasn't all that short! He was going to be seven in just two months, he had lots of time to get taller; it wasn't his fault all the boys in America were fat and big. He hated it here and wanted to go home!

"He-hey there—are you cryin' Artie?" Arthur scowled and brought his head up furiously, not bothering to wipe away at his cheeks, wishing that all the stupid jerks would just leave him alone!

"Go away! This is my spot, you can't—you can't stay here! Just leave me alone!" The other boy blinked at his angry words but didn't move, one of his hands behind his back, blue eyes still looking concerned, not hurt or angry. Arthur glared and crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to look away; his Da always said eye contact was important if you were being bullied.

The boy shuffled his feet but didn't leave, not even when Arthur huffed and turned his head away, still curled up on the ground and wishing Alfred would go away. Oh, he knew Alfred Jones; he was the most popular boy in their class and everyone loved him. He had never made fun of Arthur, which made him less horrible than the others, but he was the reminder of everything Arthur wasn't that he so badly wished he was. "Are you—that was so lame, what they all did! You're so tough though cuz you waited until recess before crying, I don't think I coulda."

Arthur sniffled and looked back up at Alfred, confused as to why he was talking to Arthur of all kids and wiped his nose with his hand. "Boys aren't supposed to cry."

"Well, maybe not as much as girls, but yeah we can! Stuff hurts us too and when you're hurt, you cry, that's what my mama says."

"Well my Da says it makes boys sissys."

"Oh." Alfred bit his lip before he grinned brightly. "Well, I won't say nothing! He'll never know!"

"You won't 'say anything,'" Arthur replied quietly. Alfred blinked, and Arthur felt dread well up because he'd gone and done something stupid again, but Alfred just laughed and sat down in front of him, one of his hands still behind his back. Arthur looked curiously at it before he sniffled again and looked back into Alfred's smile.

"You're really smart, uh? My mama always corrects my talkin', says I sound too much like my daddy, and she's the smartest grown up I know, even more smart than Ms. Helena!" He looked down again before scooting a little closer to Arthur. "I really liked your valentine. I mean, fairies are kinda girly but it looked really cool!"

Arthur nodded, still not sure what exactly was going on but beginning to feel a stirring of hope that he desperately wanted to be true.

"Here, I got you one too. I didn't give it to you in class because, because it's special. It was my favorite of the whole pack and I wanted to give it to you so you'd know I like you and that I really think we'd be awesome friends!" Alfred held out the card and Arthur took it with a small, small smile, recognizing the characters of Woody and Buzz immediately, the cowboy with his arm around the space ranger and the valentine message that said "You're the Buzz to my Woody, Valentine!"

Arthur looked back up at Alfred, who was still smiling at him so kindly and honestly, as if he truly wanted nothing more than to be Arthur's friend, and Arthur clutched the valentine tight as he mumbled a quiet 'thank you.' Alfred beamed and jumped to his feet, holding out his hand for Arthur to take and tilted his head back towards the playgrounds. "There's still some recess left! Wanna play treasure hunt with me? People who talk like you are always the hero's partners in all my adventure movies! We could be partners!"

Arthur took the hand and got up, eyes still a bit red but feeling better, lighter than he had in forever. He nodded and followed Alfred out of his hiding spot, holding the Toy Story valentine tight in his hand all the way, determined to keep it somewhere safe once he got home because it was the best gift he'd ever gotten before and from his first American friend. Alfred didn't care that some of the kids started to tease him for playing with Arthur, and he didn't care that the next day, when they had lunch and he saved a spot for Arthur, that some of the kids didn't sit with him anymore. He just smiled like he was the happiest kid in the world and pulled out an extra Ho-Ho he'd brought especially for Arthur.

And when Arthur gave him a small smile and offered him a Cadbury egg he'd been saving for a rainy day, and Alfred took it with a happy laugh and a hug, Arthur knew he'd found his friend at last—and maybe that Valentine's day wasn't so bad after all.

_**finis**_

* * *

And...there it is! The series is done! Well, not entirely. Ella Rose C did a continuation of these on her LJ which I HIGHLY recommend you go read here: http : / / hotbabysitter . livejournal . com / 29405 . html ! I promise, the fluff will not disappoint.

I know I kind of harp this, but please, if you read, alerted, favorited, or just plain enjoyed these little stories, please be kind enough to review and let me know. I've been kind of disheartened lately with the lack of reviews that seem to be floating around and it would really make me feel just tons better reading that you all enjoyed these little snippets. I did work myself pretty hard on them 333

Until next time, my lovelies!


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